The Debt
by MsBarrows
Summary: Brandon and Carver Hawke deal a little bit with their guilt over having survived Bethany's death.


"Brother..."

Brandon grimaced at the underside of the bunk overhead. "What, Carver?" he asked tiredly. It had been a long day, starting with an early morning raid on the basements of the old Amell Estate, followed by a confrontation with dear Uncle Gamlen who, it turned out, had cheated their mother of her inheritance. The mood in the house had been unbearably tense ever since, making Brandon wish more than once that he'd had an excuse to leave the house again.

"Look, about what I said earlier; about you not saving Bethany when you should of..." Carver trailed off again, one of his more irritating habits.

Brandon's hands tightened on the stained cloth draped over him – more like a length of grimy old burlap than anything _he'd_ ever call a sheet or blanket – and gritted his teeth for a moment before responding. "I think we said enough on the subject earlier," he said firmly, his voice hard even though he'd tried to soften it. They'd had a talk of their own, once Gamlen had finally left to go drinking somewhere, and mother had retreated to her own room. Not exactly an angry one, but it hadn't been overly friendly either. About their future, and the unchangeability of their past. Carver wasn't happy here in Kirkwall; Brandon could understand that, he was far from pleased with the outcome of their lengthy trip here either. And Bethany... his throat closed, and he swallowed thickly.

Carver made an exasperated sound. "That's not... look, I just wanted to apologize, all right? It wasn't right of me to bring Bethany into it. Sure, if things had gone differently, if we'd left earlier or later, or taken a different route, or, or _something_, things might have turned out differently. That ogre might not have come across us; Bethany might have lived. But then the more I thought about it, the more I thought about how _different_ didn't necessarily mean better. We might not have met Aveline, and without her help we might not have been able to get through. Or that dragon-witch, that Flemeth, she might have flown past too early or too late to save us, if things had been changed. Instead of Bethany dying, it could have been all of us. And there's worse things than dying that might have happened to us."

Brandon swallowed, his eyes closing for a moment. "Yeah. I've thought of that a time or two myself... what I might have done that could have changed the outcome. And yet whatever changes I could have made, I can't guarantee that they would have come out any better. We can't know; we can never know, how it might have worked out. Though I swear to you, if I could go back to that moment... if there was something I could do to change things, to save Bethany, I would have. Even if it meant my being the one that ogre grabbed instead of her."

There was a long silence before Carver spoke again. "I don't know that trading you for her would make me any happier. I'd rather have you both, if it's all the same," he said.

Brandon gave a short laugh. "The same, brother. I'd rather have you both. But."

"But. It's like you said, earlier – we don't have that option," Carver said. "Anyway... when I was so mad earlier, it wasn't even really you I was mad at. It was me. This life mother wants for us – the Amell estate restored to us, the three of us pretending we're Hightown nobles when you and I were raised as Fereldan farmers – there's no place for me in that, brother. I don't fit. And when you called me _Lord_ Carver – it just all came out, all at once, how angry I was. I've never wanted to be a Lord. I'd far rather just be plain Carver Hawke, back in Lothering with you and Bethy and no Blight."

Brandon smiled crookedly. "Well, someone will have to take the title if mother gets her way. And it better not be me; I can think of few worse ways to draw templar attention than by becoming Lord Brandon Hawke. Nobility won't protect me from being dragged off to the Gallows. I'd rather you were the one with the big fat target painted on."

Carver laughed, then leaned over the edge of the bunk, his grin visible in the faint light from the coals still smouldering in the nearby fireplace. "What, are you saying you want me to be your shield against the nobility, brother? As well as being your shield against slavers, street gangs, and random templars? I don't know, I may have to demand that you increase my pay with all these extra duties you're piling on."

Brandon grinned back. "Oh, well, I suppose I'll have to consider it then. Can't have my best warrior quitting on me. Whatever I'm paying you now, why don't we double it."

"Let me see... two times nothing... sounds about right. It's a deal. Though I still don't want the title."

"I'm afraid you're going to get stuck with it anyway, little brother. And then I can be your eccentric, little-seen elder brother who lives in the cellars or something. Nothing like a whiff of madness to keep enquiries to a minimum and everyone certain they know the _real_ reason behind my non-appearance at social functions."

"Would you really want to live in the cellars?" Carver asked judiciously. "They didn't strike me as all that well-lit. And they're rather on the damp and derelict side."

"Nice and large though," Brandon pointed out, then folded his hands behind his head. "The attics might be a better option. Maybe there's a nice little garret room with dormer windows up there. We'll have to check next time we break in. Or once mother recovers the estate."

"Next time? What would we want to break in again for?" Carver asked suspiciously.

"Measure the rooms for furniture, perhaps. See if those slavers left anything interesting behind when they bailed out of there. Or just because we can – we have the key, after all; it seems a shame not to use it."

Carver snorted, and rolled back out of sight. "You know who should have been Lord Hawke? Or Lady, rather – Bethany. She'd have enjoyed lording it over the two of us and going to parties."

"And dressing up. Think of all the beautiful dresses she could have owned."

"And hats."

"And hair-ribbons," Brandon added. "And _beaus_," grinning at the slight pun, which drew a snort from Carver. They fell silent again for a moment.

Carver sighed. "I miss Bethany."

"As do I, brother," Brandon said softly, reaching up to place one hand flat against the underside of the bunk overhead for a moment. "I'm just thankful I still have you and mother."

"And Gamlen."

"Maker, no, it would take a better person than I am to be thankful for Uncle Gamlen. Bethany could have done it, maybe."

"How about Geraden?"

Brandon laughed. "Yes, I'm thankful for big loyal beasts like you and Geraden both, brother. Even when they don't do much more than sit around the place all day and drool."

"Hey! I'm bigger than you now, you know. You should maybe be a little more cautious about teasing or insulting me."

"I can still set your hair on fire no matter how big your muscles get, Carver. Might even be an improvement over that mess you currently walk around with on your head."

"I like my hair this way, thank you very much. Unlike some people I don't see any need to spend half an hour with combs and hair ties every morning just to be ready to face the day."

"Some of us like to look well-turned out, not like we woke up, stuck our head in a bucket of water, slicked our hair back, and decided that was good enough. Anyway, it's not anything like a half hour."

"It's sometimes damn close."

"Hmmph. Good-night, Carver."

He could hear the grin in Carver's voice when Carver bid him a good night as well. A long silence fell. Brandon found himself lying there and thinking over their earlier conversation. "Brother..." he said after a while.

"Yeah?" Carver asked, sleepily.

"What you said earlier today, about mother taking everything out on us, because she was scared?"

"Yeah?" More awake now.

"I think it might have been like you just said about yourself... that she wasn't so much scared, as angry with herself," he said very quietly, and had to stop a moment before continuing, voice little more than a harsh whisper. "When the ogre ran out, remember... you and I were off to one side, Aveline and Wesley to the other. Bethany was the only one of us near mother. The ogre ran out and stopped in the middle, then began to move toward her. It would have killed her, except Bethy _stepped between_, so it attacked her instead. She was _protectin_g mother, Carver. She saved mother's life, even though it cost her own. That's how much she loved mother. And us; she'd have done the same if it was you or I, without even needing to think about it. That was our Bethy."

Another long silence; a thoughtful one. Finally Carver responded. "Yeah. That was our Bethy," he said, voice rough with unshed tears.

"Whatever happens to us, it's important we remember that," Brandon continued quietly. "Bethany wanted to live, but even more than that, she wanted _us_ to live. As much as we regret losing her, we should always remember that; that we had a sister who loved us enough to die for us. And we both owe it to her to make the best that we can out of the lives we have now. It's a debt we can only repay by living our lives well."

Carver sniffled. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right," he agreed thickly, then sniffled again. "I know it won't always be easy, us getting along without her. I've got a temper and you... well, you're a right pain in the arse a lot of the time, brother. But... dammit," he said, and sighed deeply.

"You're going to have me crying too if you don't cut that out," Brandon said hoarsely.

"You mean you aren't already? Liar," Carver said.

Brandon smiled crookedly. "Yeah, liar. And a right pain in the arse. _And_ able to set your hair on fire."

Carver snorted. "Idiot."

"That too," he said, and waited a moment, then spoke very softly again. "I love you, you know."

"Yeah, I know. And the same, even when you're making me so mad I want to hit you."

Brandon grinned. "I tease because I care."

Another snort. "I'll try to remember that," Carver said, then rolled over enough to reach one hand down. "Brother."

Brandon reached out and clasped it. "Brother," he agreed.


End file.
